


matters of the heart

by uhuraprime



Series: What Terrifying Final Sights [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Substance Abuse, Tarsus IV, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:59:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhuraprime/pseuds/uhuraprime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda deals with losing a friend and gaining two children. Jim and Spock adjust to life on Earth - and to their constantly evolving relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Amanda wasn’t ready to be a mother when she got pregnant with Spock. Her pregnancy was one of the many things Sarek had guilted her into. It was also the only one she couldn’t bring herself to regret.

She had, of course, gotten the hang of the whole motherhood thing eventually. Her instincts kicked in once she realized Sarek really wasn’t coming back for her – for _them_. In an instant “I” became “we,” and suddenly everything Amanda did was in the best interest of Spock. Beautiful, logical Spock. So much like his father and yet entirely different at the same time.

Everything on Tarsus had happened so fast – and not just the crops dying, or the people dying as a result of that. Winona’s boys came fast, and with them came the grief. The rescue ships came faster than anyone had expected, and then suddenly anyone who was lucky enough to be alive was being sent on the next shuttle to Earth. It was too much for Amanda to process. She wasn’t ready, but once again she had no choice _but_ to be ready.

As Amanda looks through the glass that separates her and Winona’s two boys, she feels a familiar sense of foreboding. Being unprepared to raise Spock was one thing – she’d spent nine months carrying the boy inside her, and Vulcan children just about raised themselves once they could think and speak in full sentences. She watches as Jim clings to his baby brother, refusing to allow any of the nurses to hold him. These two boys have been through so much, Jim especially. Amanda can barely handle her own emotional baggage. How can she be expected to handle the weight of their grief as well?

 _It’s not a matter of whether or not you can do it_ , Amanda reminds herself as she presses a hand to the cool glass _. This was Winona’s dying wish_.

And Amanda’d be damned if she was going to let her best friend down.

 

The first time Amanda and Jim have a disagreement is three months after the four of them have settled into their San Francisco home. Spock just about carries Jim through the door almost two hours after their curfew. Jim’s whole body is limp, face flushed and lips curved in a goofy smile.

“Jim, Spock,” Amanda says curtly, arms crossed as she assesses the duo before her. “You’re late.”

“Amanda,” Jim slurs, and if it wasn’t already obvious that the boy was drunk, it’s just about written across his forehead now. “You look dashing tonight.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Jim?”

The boy shrugs, extending a bare arm and pointing to the place where a watch would be, if he had one. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p.’

“It’s nearly one in the morning, James,” Amanda says, and Jim stiffens at the sound of his full name. “Your brother is sleeping upstairs, and I’d like to be doing the same, except I’ve spent the last two hours praying to God that the two of you weren’t _dead on the street_ somewhere.”

“Why are you so upset?” Jim slurs, looking at Amanda with his face creased in confusion. “We’re fine, see?” He gestures towards himself and Spock, who is looking between the two of them, eyes wide like he can’t comprehend what’s happening in front of him.

Amanda sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and counting to ten in her head. “Grounded. Both of you. Three weeks, maybe two if you can somehow convince me you deserve it.”

Spock utters a quiet “Yes, mother,” at the same time as Jim lets out an exasperated “Are you _serious_?”

Jim pulls himself out of Spock’s arms then, stumbling for a moment before regaining his balance. He locks gazes with Amanda, his eyes full of an emotion the woman can’t quite place. “You can’t just _do_ that!”

Amanda snorts. “Oh, I think I can.”

“You’re not my fucking _mother_ ,” Jim spits, and his eyes go wide the second the words leave his mouth. For what feels like an eternity the room falls silent.

Amanda can feel the heat rushing to her face as she stares at the boy in front of her, all blonde hair and brashness. Her heart hurts for Jim – really, it does. He’s lost everything. Amanda would’ve given anything to take Winona’s place on Tarsus if it meant this boy didn’t have to suffer anymore. But she can’t tolerate this kind of behavior. Amanda is Jim’s guardian now, and whether he likes it or not he lives under her roof and thus by her rules.

Amanda sighs once, long and hard, before deciding on a course of action. “You’re right, Jim,” she says with a pause, and he frowns in confusion at the statement. “I’m not your mother. What I _am_ , though, is the closest thing you’ve got.

I know you’re hurting, Jim, and I am too. Winona was my best friend. Her dying wish was for me to take care of her boys, and I’ll be damned if I’m not trying my hardest to live up to that wish. The truth I can’t do this thing one-sided. It’s give and take, and you haven’t been doing a whole lot of giving in the past three months.”

Jim just swallows, looks at Amanda as if he’s not sure how to respond. Behind him, Spock is frozen in shock. Never in his life has he seen Amanda have to be this kind of mother – mostly because he’s never been that kind of son. Amanda gives her son a look that says _you better not ever try to pull this kind of stunt_. Spock’s bewildered expression makes her confident that he receives her message, loud and clear.

“Four weeks,” she says decidedly. “You’re lucky that’s all you two get. Spock, bring Jim upstairs and make sure he gets into bed in one piece. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

Spock lifts his best friend up then, practically sprinting up the stairs as he goes. Exasperated, Amanda lets herself slide to the ground in a puddle of exhaustion and grief. She lies there for a few minutes, hot tears pooling in her eyes but never falling.

Being a mother is impossible, and yet there is no other choice.


	2. a different path

The first thing Spock notices upon meeting James Kirk is his speech patterns. The boy talks constantly. He seems to stumble over his own words, as if halfway through uttering one sentence his mind has already begun to think of the next. It is illogical, Spock thinks, to speak in such a rapid fashion. Surely this hasty approach to language leads to a decrease in efficiency and a plethora of misunderstandings.

It becomes apparent that Spock’s assessment is correct when, later that day, Jake Finnegan attacks the boy at lunch.

The altercation begins as most do among human males – with one insinuating that the other’s mother possesses negative characteristics. “What did you just say about my Ma?” Finnegan shouts, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of every child in the small courtyard.

“I _said_ , maybe if your Mama hadn’t raised you to be so goddamn _stupid_ –”

Kirk’s sentence is interrupted by Finnegan’s fist. It collides with the boy’s face, resulting in a rather loud cracking noise that causes even Spock to flinch sympathetically. Much to Spock’s surprise, though, the younger boy recovers within seconds. As he stands, James Kirk wipes the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “That all you got?” he grunts, eyes wild.

If Spock is honest, he isn’t entirely sure why he decides to approach the duo. It is hardly the first time the Vulcan has witnessed a fight between humans. After assessing all possible outcomes of the altercation, Spock has come to the conclusion that neither party is in danger of serious injury. Still, the Vulcan feels an unexplainable need to defend the illogical human known as James Kirk.

It takes mere seconds to end the fight. Spock simply approaches Finnegan with his hands raised in a human gesture of surrender. He then takes the boy aside and offers a basic, factual statement.

“There is a nerve at the base of your neck. I possess the ability to apply pressure to this nerve in such a way that you will be rendered unconscious within seconds. I am providing you with this information for the sake of your dignity – I understand that human males tend to take their dignities very seriously. I can only assume that if you were to faint in the middle of this courtyard, you would, as you humans say, ‘ _never live it down_.’ Am I correct in this assessment?”

“You’re correct,” Finnegan concedes with a confused frown.

“It is in your best interest, then, that you terminate the altercation between yourself and James Kirk immediately.”

Finnegan stares at Spock for approximately 5.03 seconds before speaking. “You suck,” he whispers in way of response. Then, louder, he announces: “I could kill you, Kirk, but you’re not worth the detention. I’m out.”

Spock meets Jim Kirk’s bright, blue eyes as Finnegan retreats. The boy doesn’t speak a word, but somehow Spock still manages to receive his message. _Thank you_.

Years later Kirk would label this moment “the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Spock considers ‘beautiful’ to be a vague and ill-defined adjective, and as a Vulcan he does not participate in the illogical concept of human _friendship_. Despite these facts, Spock cannot help but agree with Jim’s assessment.

 

“… _and can you believe she lets him get away with it? Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to procreate – I swear!_ ”

“ _Carol, you’re awful!_ ”

“ _You know it’s true, Jeanette! The woman has no idea what she’s doing_.”

It is the kind of conversation that Spock’s mother would no doubt consider ‘petty.’ Spock is not entirely sure why he continues to listen once he has identified its nature. Gossip is illogical, and eavesdropping on that gossip even more so. It is an impractical use of time, and yet Spock cannot seem to tear his attention away.

“Nothing good on TV?”

Spock jolts involuntarily at Jim’s unexpected appearance, causing the human’s lips to twitch in amusement. “I’m afraid I do not understand,” Spock replies, and it isn’t a complete lie. He knows that Jim is acknowledging Spock’s eavesdropping. What he doesn’t understand is the reference to television.

Kirk rolls his eyes in way of reply, slipping into the seat next to Spock with a smirk still plastered across his face. “You forget I know you better than anyone,” Kirk chuckles. “Now tell me what they’re saying. Not all of us have Vulcan superpowers.”

Spock ignores Jim’s use of the term ‘ _superpowers_ ,’ electing instead to turn and face the boy. “They are engaged in gossip.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Jim chuckles. “You gonna elaborate?”

Spock turns to meet the other boy’s eyes, unsure of how to proceed. Lying is illogical. Yet telling the truth seems, in this moment, to be an unnecessary source of pain for Jim. Spock knows that Jim is fiercely protective of his mother. He also knows of Jim’s temper, and his propensity for holding grudges. Spock wonders if there is any logical reason why Jim should know the details of their discussion. Spock wonders if, had his father been present during his childhood, he would be prepared for a scenario such as this.

“They are currently discussing a student and his mother,” Spock says finally. Jim nods slowly, waiting for further explanation. “More specifically, they are discussing the student’s violent tendencies, and his mother’s inability to correct his perceived flaws.”

“Who’s the student?”

Spock’s eyes flicker towards the pair, huddled close together at the lunch table designated for teachers. “ _I mean really, would it kill the woman to buy a hairbrush? She looks like she rolled around in a haystack._ ”

“ _Well they are from Iowa, after all._ ”

The women erupt into laughter. Spock scoffs.

“I am unfamiliar with the student in question,” Spock says, and the words leave a foul taste in his mouth.

It is true that Vulcans do not lie. Spock, however, is not fully Vulcan. He concludes that his human half is, in fact, capable of deceit – under the correct circumstances. It is only logical.

 

 

In the approximately 74.36 hours since his mother’s death, Jim has spoken a mere nine words. Seven of those words had been strung together to form an almost-sentence: “Mom got shot – she sent us here.” The other two had been one-word answers to concerned questions from Amanda (the first was “no,” followed shortly thereafter by a “kinda”).

As Spock sits beside Jim now, on a shuttle from Tarsus to Earth, he thinks of all the times he had attempted to silence the human. Countless hours wasted on speculation, always operating under the same assumption: that James Tiberius Kirk was, at any given moment, talking. Never once had Spock considered how to incite this speech – it was always a given. If Jim was breathing, he was speaking. Thus Spock is unsure of how to proceed in the wake of this newfound silence.

“Sam is finally asleep,” Spock says as he stares at the baby’s peaceful face.

Jim simply nods in reply.

“Maybe you should try to –”

Jim shakes his head, letting go of Spock’s hand and turning his head to look out the shuttle window.

Neither boy speaks for the rest of the ride.

 

Three days pass before Jim once again participates in verbal communication. In this time the group of four has been moved into temporary housing (Spock’s mother had snorted upon entering the apartment – ‘ _guess Los Angeles has a pretty loose definition of_ housing’ – and Spock could not help but agree with the sentiment).

When Spock enters their shared quarters with a dinner plate in his hands, he finds Jim lying in fetal position at the foot of his bed. The room in which the pair resides is not much larger than a standard closet. It was clearly built with the intention of housing one individual, and thus the pair of twin-sized beds is pressed tightly together in order to fit within the limited space. The walls are adorned with floral-patterned wallpaper that has undergone serious amounts of water damage.

“Jim, you must eat something,” the Vulcan says softly, kneeling in front of his best friend in an attempt to achieve eye contact – only to find that the human’s eyelids are closed tightly. “You have consumed minimal amounts of food since our arrival on Earth. My mother is worried about your health, both physical and emotional. I must admit that I, too, feel… perturbed by the uncharacteristic behavior you have exhibited over the past three days.”

It is as close to an admission of emotion as Spock has ever uttered in Jim’s presence. Yet still, no reaction. Spock cannot help but recall a time, only a few weeks prior, when Jim would’ve reveled in his words – spent days harassing the Vulcan for his _illogical_ behavior. Never in his life did Spock imagine he would one day long for such a response.

Spock feels a slight discomfort in his ankles due to his current position, but he quickly files the sensation in the back of his mind and focuses on the situation at hand. “Jim, I wish to –” he starts, but cannot adequately express the plethora of thoughts that soar through his mind like the shooting stars Jim so loves to search for on cold, dark nights.

“I cannot fathom the way in which you must currently feel,” Spock continues after several moments of utter silence. “I know that I cannot say anything to ease the pain in your heart over the loss you have endured, but – Jim, if I may speak frankly?”

The human boy’s bright blue eyes open into thin slivers across his now pale, sunken face. It is a simple sign of life, of understanding – all the permission Spock needs to continue.

“Jim, you have endured what most would consider to be a lifetime worth of trauma in the span of a mere fifteen years. It is illogical – no, _immoral_ – to expect you to react any way other than this. You have been orphaned, forced to watch your loved ones suffer, starve, and die at the hands of an evil man. It is not right for me to ask this of you, and yet – Jim, you _cannot_ give up. You must think of your parents. You must think of Sam. He has already lost so much at such a young age. To lose you would be to lose all ties he has to that which he has already lost. You must eat, Jim. You must stay alive. Stay alive for your brother, and… stay alive for me, Jim. Selfishly, I cannot imagine a life for myself without your presence. Please do not allow me to endure that which I cannot even fathom within the confines of my own imagination.”

For a long time there is only silence. Spock sets the dinner plate on the floor in front of Jim. He then presses a gentle kiss to the human’s forehead, allowing himself to stand and retire to his own bed.

It is not for approximately twenty minutes that Kirk dares to move. Spock listens as the boy removes himself from fetal position, not daring to look up from his book for fear of scaring the human into changing his mind. Spock watches in his periphery as Kirk reaches down to grab his dinner plate, tentatively raising the fork to his mouth as if he has never before used such a utensil.

It is when the two of them prepare for sleep that Spock finally hears the human boy speak. His voice is quiet and scratchy, and if it weren’t for Spock’s enhanced hearing he surely would not have detected the sound at all. It is only two words, strung together with a loose thread of something that sounds like sadness. And yet, Spock has never been so grateful to hear anything in his entire life.

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

“D’you, um,” Jim says, but his voice catches. Sends him tumbling into silence once again.

“It’s all right, Jim, take your time,” Spock replies. He dares to look at the other boy, lying on his back, inches away from Spock’s mirrored form. They just barely manage to occupy the too-small blanket Jim had brought up to the roof with the purpose of stargazing (‘ _It’ll be fun_ ,’ he’d said, and Spock had believed him, somehow).

Jim’s eyes turn sharp then, like he’s going to retort – and the old Jim would have. The Jim Spock knew prior to Tarsus would’ve called him a _condescending prick_ , swatted at Spock’s chest and turned away indignantly. Spock would never purposefully attempt to bring this kind of reaction out of Jim. That would be cruel. Still, sometimes, when the situation warrants a snarky comment – well, he can’t help but wish for the familiar annoyance he used to feel when interacting with his best friend.

“Do you ever miss it, kind of?”

Jim doesn’t have to clarify in order for Spock to know immediately what it is he speaks of. _Tarsus_. Spock ponders the question for a moment, entertaining the idea. Does he miss Tarsus? “I suppose,” he says slowly, and then loses track of his sentence just as it begins (a very ‘Jim’ move). “I suppose I miss the way things were, prior to…”

“Yeah,” Jim supplies, and Spock is silently grateful that he does not have to say the word out loud.

“I miss our home, and our farm,” Spock admits quietly. “I miss walking to school with you. I miss your mother’s blatant disapproval of me” – Jim lets out a quiet snort at that – “and the way in which everything was… easy, before.” Jim reaches for Spock’s hand then, looks almost surprised at his own action as he does so.

“I miss the stars.”

“Jim, the stars did not –”

“Spock, I _know_ ,” Jim grunts, and Spock’s eyes widen at the sudden outburst. “Stop treating me like a fucking baby! I know the stars didn’t die at the hands of some genocidal maniac like Frank and Bethany and _Mom_ and – Fuck. I _know_ , Spock, but I miss the _constellations_. Everything is different here. Shifted.”

Jim’s grip on Spock’s hand tightens. Spock finds himself unable to detach his gaze from the other boy’s face. The Vulcan watches as his friend raises a hand, begins to trace lines between the stars with his index finger.

“That one’s Pisces,” he says, pale lips ghosting a smile on his once-colorful face. “That’s me. And you’re a Capricorn, right? So, uh…”

Something about the way Jim smiles reminds Spock of the way his boy once was: always so, so bright. Always smiling. Always snarky. So annoyingly intelligent. Spock loves Jim in every form, every state of being, but _God_ , how he misses that smile. It is as if Spock cannot control the movement of his body as he jerks toward the other boy. He wonders, illogically, if their discussion of planets had some kind of affect on their bodies. If Jim is the sun, then Spock is simply a planet, stuck in his orbit. Fated to be by his side, always.

“Spock?” Jim breathes as the Vulcan’s face moves within inches of his own. “What are you –”

In lieu of answering Jim’s question verbally, Spock grabs the other boy’s wrist in his hand, bringing both their hands to rest in the space between their chests. Gently, he presses his first two digits against Jim’s own, looking into the other boy’s eyes and feeling more fragile than he’d ever thought possible. “This is the Vulcan way of –”

“ _Fuck_ , Spock, I know what the fuck this is,” Jim says, jerking Spock towards him with his free hand, too-rough and yet not-rough-enough at the same time. Their mouths slam together, a chaotic clash of tongue and teeth and inexperience (on Spock’s part, mostly). Jim pulls away just long enough to gasp for air. “I spent way too much time waiting for this, Spock. _Shit_.”

And then they’re kissing again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, Spock thinks, he could narrate an entire conversation between himself and Jim without the other boy ever entering the room. He has learned the other boy’s cues, has discerned just how Jim will react to any given situation. There are outliers, of course - as is expected, especially when one is dealing with a subject like James Tiberius Kirk.

Spock knows exactly how Jim would react to his current predicament and yet, illogically, he still wishes to confront the other boy. Still desires the predictable conversation, desires the banter the two of them have built up over years of friendship.

He’d never admit it to the other boy, but Spock relishes in Jim’s teasing. Loves to be the subject of the human boy’s attention. Loves to recognize that smile Jim has - the one reserved only for Spock.

But Spock cannot go to Jim - not with this particular predicament.

Spock cannot ask Jim for advice, because Jim is the problem. And Jim is the solution. And Jim is every variable, every equation running through Spock’s head, and the Vulcan boy has never felt so disjointed in his entire life. He cannot seem to make sense of the algorithms swirling in his line of vision. He cannot silence his mind long enough to discern just what it is he is feeling in the first place, much less put those feelings into words, or actions.

“Spock,” Amanda’s quiet voice calls, rousing the boy from his trance. “Is everything okay?”

It is the fourth night in a row that Jim has elected to eat dinner in their room. The closed door makes it clear that Spock is not invited to join him. “No, mother,” Spock says surely, and the human woman raises an eyebrow (a habit she picked up from Spock, or perhaps even from his father). “It is impossible for  _ ‘everything’  _ to be okay, statistically speaking, as there are billions of lifefo -”

“ _ Spock _ ,” Amanda interrupts the boy, wearing what Jim refers to as her  _ no-bullshit _ expression. “Don’t get literal with me. We both know I’m not asking about everything in the entire universe. I’m asking about you. And… and Jim. Did you two have a fight?”

“No.”

It is not a lie. Spock and Jim did not engage in any form of physical and/or verbal dispute. In fact, the pair has not spoken to one another at all in almost a week (not since what happened on the rooftop).

Spock must admit that he does not understand why he and Jim are not speaking. Everything had seemed fine that night. They had kissed for a long while, before heading down to their room and falling asleep tangled in one another’s arms. In that moment, Spock had felt a sense of utter peace. He had assumed that Jim, too, felt this ease (for it was the first night in months that the other boy slept soundly). Spock did not sense any negativity until morning came along.

Spock had awoken early in the morning to find Jim’s space beside him empty. He felt the sheets, noting the absence of the other boy’s warmth, and spent about half an hour searching for the other boy around their apartment. He had almost resorted to waking Amanda when Jim finally returned.

When the human boy entered through the front door some forty-five minutes after Spock awoke, he was drunk.

“ _ Jim _ ,” Spock had whispered, not wanting to wake his mother or Sam. “ _ Where have you been? _ ”

“ _ Out, _ ” had been Jim’s curt reply.

“ _ Jim, if you would like to discuss the events of la _ -”

Jim had simply raised a hand to silence the Vulcan, voice slurring just slightly as he spoke. “ _ Nothing to talk about, _ ” he assured the other boy, heading to their room and promptly falling asleep for another six hours.

“Spock, you know you can tell me anything...” Amanda starts, trailing off at the end of her sentence. “I just - you’d tell me if something were really wrong, right?”

Spock nods. Of course he would alert his mother if himself or Jim were in any immediate danger. But Jim’s week long ‘silent treatment’ is hardly an emergency. It is simply a result of the boy being a moody teenager (or, so Spock hopes). “Mother, you have nothing to worry about.”

“If you say so,” Amanda mutters, and Spock cannot help but feel a pang of uncertainty.

 

That night Spock decides he must confront Jim again, when the boy is sober and has had time to think about what happened between the two of them. He enters their room at approximately 20:32 hours, closing the door behind him and sitting at the edge of his own bed.

Jim does not look up from the book in his hands, but Spock sees the boy’s shoulders twitch ever-so-slightly when he enters. “Jim,” Spock says quietly, and the other boy hums in reply. “Jim, please look at me.”

A pair of bright, blue eyes meet his then, and Spock nearly gasps. He had not expected Jim to concede so easily.

“Jim, have I done something to upset you?”

“What, Spock? No, you -”

“I was under the impression that what happened on the roof was a mutually beneficial experience for both of us, but -”

“It  _ was _ , Spock, really. I just -”

“If the act was not consensual, I will gladly turn myself into the authorities, or -”

“Oh  _ God _ , Spock,” Jim gasps, grabbing the other boy’s arm. Spock nearly gasps at the other boy’s warmth - warmth he has missed so dearly over these past seven days. The words leave his mouth immediately, and he finds himself at the other boy’s mercy (even more concerning, he finds himself completely at ease with the loss of control). “No. You’re way off base.

“You didn’t, like,  _ rape  _ me. God. I’m sorry if you thought I was… shit. I went about this totally wrong, didn’t I?”

Spock remains silent, even as the other boy looks at him for answers. He is unsure of how to proceed. He requires more information before he can decide what to say to the other boy.

“I liked what happened, Spock. I really did. And I think you did, too, which is… I mean, it’s great. But I just don’t want to do it again. Okay?”

Spock knows he has no right to ask. Knows it is illogical, and that the answer will likely cause more distress than it will bring clarity. Still, he cannot help himself. It seems Jim’s irrational pull on him is neverending. “Why?”

Jim sighs. “Spock… God, you make this really difficult, you know that?”

Spock resists the urge to apologize, knowing it will only upset Jim more (a phenomenon he does not completely understand, but has come to acknowledge as a pattern). “We’re just really close friends, you know? And sometimes wires get crossed… sometimes you mistake really close friendship for - for something more. It’s normal. I’m not, like,  _ mad  _ or anything, I just don’t think we want the same things out of this and I don’t wanna ruin our friendship. Do you understand?”

Spock does not understand. Not completely, at least. But he nods, because regardless of Jim’s reasoning, he knows what the other boy means to say. His romantic feelings for Jim are not reciprocated. He will have to move on from them. It is a normal part of life.

“Okay,” Jim says quietly. “Okay. Good. Can we go back to normal now?”

And so they do. Or, at least, they try to.


End file.
